Max Tossing Salads
Max
Tossing Salads
The day has come—my favorite one of the entire year, aside from my birthday—Mage Hollow’s Annual Lobster Festival. It’s really more of a weekend-long thing, but Saturday is the main event, and I fully intend to stuff myself with every type of seafood available as soon as I’m done helping my mother.
Mabel always has a booth. I guess years of being named Queen of the Claw have earned her all of Mage’s respect—that and the secret sauce she makes for her lobster rolls. While my mom is famous in the fall for her pumpkin tortellini, nothing tops what she’s serving today.
"Max, watch where you’re going." Mabel crosses her arms and taps her foot as I maneuver the booth with a fifty-pound tub of what I call lobster salad. It’s really just the meat, celery, and scallions, but the way we toss it in the sauce right before serving is what I imagine they do with my leafy greens at Union Tavern before dishing it out—a perfect coating on each piece.
"I got it, Ma." I place it down in the cooler, right alongside the five others I’ve carried in. "Thanks for the help, bro," I say to Sam through gritted teeth. He’s apparently made himself the king of opening and closing the cooler while I do all the heavy lifting.
"Can someone take this?" Nora, my sister, calls, her small arms wrapped around a jar of Mom’s sauce that’s so big it covers most of her slight frame.
My dad grabs it, stepping away from his designated job of placing red and white checkered tablecloths on each of the ten picnic tables in front of our booth.
This is the largest setup we’ve ever had.
We have multiple coolers, four tables for serving, and plenty of seating for our guests, all arranged underneath a jumbo white tent.
But it’s not that different from every other setup.
Every vendor here takes this event seriously, and each one believes this could be the year they steal the crown—they’re obviously delusional.
Unlike Hollow Hearts, we don’t get to ditch the booth immediately after setup is finished.
Mabel makes most of us stick around until the lunch rush has dwindled—this year even Ari and Howie got roped into helping.
Mom convinced Howie with the promise of a freshly baked pie all to himself, but Ari, I assume, is here with Olive.
They've been best friends since college, and with the recent distance between her and my red-headed friend… I can't imagine he asked her.
"Okay, all that’s left is to put the flowers on the tables. Ma, are you okay if we take a coffee break?" Bridget asks, carefully carrying a box full of yellow vases brimming with pink, orange, and purple zinnias.
Mom wrinkles her nose, looks around the booth, then to her checklist. "I suppose. But you all better be back here with hairnets on in…" She glances at her watch. "Forty-three minutes."
I smother the smirk that’s trying to sneak onto my face, and instead turn to my brother, tossing him a nod toward the Brewhouse.
The group of us make our way down the cobbled sidewalk, steps quickening as the scent of freshly brewed beans wafts in the air.
Sam’s the first one to the door, pulling it open as our hoard trails in.
Howie snags a round oak table near the back, grabbing a few chairs to make sure we can all fit.
In what feels like minutes, a smooth iced black coffee is sliding down my throat, the caffeine buzzing in my veins.
I'm surrounded by my family, all four O'Reilly kids accounted for, along with Olive, Howie, and Ari, who's noticeably a little closer to my friend than she needs to be.
"So, Max, any more run-ins with Howard's cousin that beat you up?" Bridget points at my face, where my black eyes have turned to more of a greenish-yellow.
I sip my drink, not sure how much I should share. "Yeah, she met Benny and me at the dog park yesterday." I shrug, making eye contact with Howie across the table.
Howie nods, his eyes widening. He can’t seriously want me to spill the beans."Did she tell you anything?"
"Uh," I hesitate.
"Max, she must have told you something," Howie doubles down, running a hand along his stubbled jaw.
"Something about what, Howard? Stop being so suspicious." Ari swats his arm, and his cheeks turn pink from the contact.
"Ari!" Olive whines. "Let Max answer."
All eyes turn toward me like I’m the one with all the information when at least three people at this table already have a hunch about what’s going on.
"Yeah, she did." I run a hand through my hair. "She showed it to me."
Howie looks shocked. "She did?"
"Why do you seem surprised? You literally just forced me into saying it."
"I guess I just thought it would take longer for her to—"
Ari huffs, nearly slamming her coffee cup on the table. "To what? Does the girl have a secret or something? We’re all on the edge of our seats here."
Bridget and Nora fall into easy laughter, bystanders in this entire conversation. They know what happened to Olive last fall because Sam and I sort of fell into telling them one night over beers at the cabin. I thought at the time they’d be shocked, but both of my sisters seemed completely unfazed.
"Okay, okay. But keep your voices down. This isn’t something that can leave this group." I take a long pull of my drink and lean forward, my elbows digging into the table. "Sadie has this book. It’s filled with puzzles that are almost all completed—"
Bridget claps. "Let me guess, you volunteered to let her use your special pencil to solve them." Her eyebrows wiggle up and down with innuendo.
"No, Jesus, Bridg." I let out a steadying breath. "She thinks it’s cursed or something. Every time she solves a clue, the word changes to gold script on the page. Oh and Beth, the owner of 1793, is the one who gave it to her. She said something about learning her fate."
Nora pushes away from the table. "At least it’s not her arm this time." She walks toward the restroom in the back hallway.
"Wait a minute"—Ari crosses her arms over her chest—"I know I’m not finding out for the second time in this coffee shop that someone we know is cursed." Her gaze darts to Olive in a pointed stare.
Howie brushes his hand down her arm, and she visibly relaxes. "Ari, you are." He smiles at her softly. "Sorry to break it to you."
"No fucking way. Isn’t it possible this is just like some weird color-changing ink?"
I can’t stop laughing. "Nope, I suggested that too. The weirdest part is that Beth is Irina’s sister." Ari hisses at the name. Last year wasn’t just hard on Olive, Ari was in it with her from the very beginning.
"How can that even be possible? We’ve been going to that diner for years." Bridget sips her drink, skeptical as ever.
Sam remains stoic, and Olive picks her fingernails.
"I did always think it was weird how the woman never aged. I mean, give me your skincare routine, lady." Ari makes herself laugh.
"None of that matters." I run a hand through my hair and check my phone for the time. "We need to get back, and you all need to remember this is a secret. If you see her today, don’t say anything. I’m handling it."
Nora returns, and our group begins clearing the table. When we exit the coffee shop to head back to Mom’s tent, my sisters slide up next to me, one on each side.
"Maxie-pad," Bridget coos, using the nickname I’ve learned to love but obviously hate.
"You like this girl, huh?" Nora elbows me gently.
I keep walking, not answering them. I’m starting to, but they don’t need to know that before she does.
"Max, I need three rolls for Mr. House. Extra sauce," my mom calls from the other end of the line.
We’ve been working non-stop for about an hour, I’m sweating in a way that feels unsanitary, and the line of people waiting doesn’t seem to be getting any shorter.
Mabel has received all sorts of comments, some begging for the recipe, and some wondering when she’ll step aside and let someone new win the title.
The answer is never—she lives for this shit.
I haven’t spotted Sadie or her sister Mal, but that’s not saying much since I’ve barely moved two feet from this assembly line.
Sam hands me a basket and holds the buttered top-split rolls open for me. Carefully spooning the lobster mixture into each, I grab it and hand it off to the gentleman who ordered it at the same time that Beau, Olive’s boss and the owner of Black Kettle Bindery, approaches with a… stroller?
My sister-in-law's voice rings out from a few feet down. "Hi Mr. Pickles. I can’t believe your dad is finally using the Christmas gift I bought him."
Beau’s cheeks turn rosy, but his eyes narrow at his employee. "He has a very busy schedule, Olivia. We’ve been over this."
She laughs, taking his order and leaning over the table to pet the unamused black cat. Sam and I quickly prepare a roll for Beau and a side of plain lobster meat for Mr. Pickles—my brother rolling his eyes the entire time.
As I go to hand him their meals, he smiles at me mischievously. "Hello, Maxim." I shake my head. He knows that’s not my name. "Are you free this week? I have several boxes being delivered on Tuesday."
"It’s Max… Maxwell if we’re being official." I smile at him. "And yes, I should be free. I’m planning a beach day at some point, but nothing is set in stone."
He nods. "Be there Tuesday at seven. Not a minute later." He walks away, not waiting for a response, and my mother's suddenly high-pitched voice coasts across the space.
"Oh, hello, Sadie. Is this your family?" She knows her family already, but leave it to Mabel to make a big show of things.
My eyes dart to the other end of the line where my mom, sisters, and Olive are gathered around, practically vibrating with excitement.
They’re so embarrassing.
Even so, I listen for her response.
"Yes, good to see you, Mrs. O’Reilly. You probably remember my mom Dee Dee, and this is Mal, my sister. Can we please have eight lobster rolls, four juice boxes, and four sodas?"
Bridget scribbles down the order, passing the slip to Sam as Olive and Nora grab the drinks.
"Wow, where are the kids? I bet they’ve grown since the last time I saw them. How long’s it been?"
Mallory chimes in, "a few months, I think. Poppy isn’t keen on wearing clothing, so we don’t make it out of the house very often."
That makes my mom double over in laughter, while I don’t miss the dirty look Sadie gives her sister. I wonder what that’s about?
"Well, we’ll bring them a special treat to go with their meals. Max, why don’t you help Sadie carry the food over to their table so these ladies can go sit down?"
I nod, continuing to work on preparing the eight lobster rolls. My mom motions for Sam to grab the secret stash of cookies she made for us—a thank you that seems to be more for her favorite customers than the help. He grabs them, abandoning his post to take them to the girls.
"The hairnet is a good look, Max." Sadie smirks. "Really accentuates how hard it’s working to contain your mop."
A snort slips out of me. "Don’t hate on the hair, Sade. Some men would kill for these luscious locks."
"Yeah, okay. Are you going to hurry on these rolls or do I need to toss them myself?" Sadie glances behind her at the table with her family. "The girls will start rioting soon."
She’s breathtaking as she spins back around to face me—casually dressed in denim shorts, a black tank top, sandals, and sunglasses that frustratingly cover her freckles.
Her hair blows slightly in the breeze, gracing me with her peach scent—a sweet relief over the crustaceans that have surrounded me all day.
"Yeah, I’m working on tossing the last two."
"Extra sauce, don’t forget." She points at the bowl I’m currently working on.
I narrow my eyes at her, then flash my brightest smile. "I don’t need instructions on how to toss your salad, Sade." Winking at her, she opens and closes her mouth a few times as patches of red crawl up her neck.
"I, uh. Wow—"
"Cat got your tongue?"
She shakes her head. "No, I was going to tell you I agree. To the deal, I mean. But now…"
"Now you’re even more intrigued? Look, I get it. I’m a catch." I hold my hands up, pushing the baskets of food toward Sadie. "I’m glad you finally realized it."
"Okay, Casanova. Let’s not get carried away. I’m agreeing to your help because I have no choice."
I round the table, tossing my gloves in the trash as I do. "Who’s Casanova?"
Sadie grabs two of the baskets, while I pull the other two toward me. "Casanova… you know, like the—"
A chuckle bubbles out of me. "I know. Just wanted to hear you say it again."
Sadie rolls her eyes as we walk side by side to where her family is seated. They greet me with friendly smiles as Poppy blushes and waves. Sliding my phone from my pocket, I check the schedule of today’s events, and Sadie slides onto the picnic bench next to her mom.
"Hey, Sade. Meet me at the Oyster tent in an hour?"
"For?" she asks, chewing nervously on her bottom lip.
"Your first fun thing."